


on avarice

by Anonymous



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: M/M, Seasonal Celebrations, minor references to other ships (see notes), set post act 8
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-13
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-30 00:51:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21419485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kumon loses his homework. Misumi discovers that he's in love.(minor sakyo/izumi references, extremely vague hint of banri/juza, tasuku and tsumugi being their usual selves)
Relationships: Ikaruga Misumi/Miyoshi Kazunari
Comments: 19
Kudos: 244
Collections: Anonymous





	on avarice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [penkipenguin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/penkipenguin/gifts).

> I hope this is okay! Please forgive inconsistencies with canon OTL

If happiness comes in threes, then surely it is a foundation worth building upon. While maths mostly reminds him of endless number strings arranged in no particular order, Misumi takes one teaching to heart: triangles are the greatest base, the strongest shape. If Misumi puts his hands up and stares past the angled window his fingers form to the goal far ahead, every surface of the pyramid it forms is also a joyous, perfect, indestructible triangle.

-

Come April, the company undergoes a transformation. Sakyo starts shedding his long black coats on the warmer days, which has the effect of making the Director’s eyes linger ever-so-slightly longer on him than before, a hint of shy anticipation in her gaze. Tenma’s schedule ramps up with a slew of interviews marking the advent of the Spring TV drama season. Only the spicy aroma of curry wafting from the kitchen remains a constant amid the bustling activity of the students and part-timers. Misumi sneaks bites of Citron’s onigiri while he surveys the changing landscape and concludes that he likes this new, fresh company just as much as the old one.

The sakura petals are just starting to wither away when he enters his room to find Kumon crouched on the floor, desperately sifting through messy piles of paper. After several fruitless searches, he looks up with a pitiful expression.

“Misumi-san, I can’t find my homework!”

“Ehhh? Why not?!”

Kumon’s mouth hangs open for a second. Then a brilliant smile blooms over his face. He huffs out first one laugh, then another, and then both of them are giggling together while the pile of worksheets directly under Kumon’s splayed hand teeters and falls apart. “That’s what I want to know!” wails Kumon between laughs, and Misumi scoots over to peer more closely at the mess.

“I’ll help you look!” he declares. He’s good at treasure hunting, at finding overlooked triangles. If Kumon is in trouble, then Misumi wants to help in whatever way he can. Being here in this company has taught him that there is always something he can do for his friends, even if that only means staying with them while they think.

Kumon’s face is bright again, the dark clouds over his eyes evaporating under the warmth of his boyish grin. “It’ll be a treasure hunt!”

“I’m going to find all the triangle treasures!”

“Wait, Misumi-san, we’re supposed to look for my homework!”

The days are growing warm, bringing with them the promise of Summer, and Misumi is giddy with the anticipation of the changes to come. He dashes out the door again, having long since forgotten what he had initially returned to his room for. Kumon scrambles up and out the door after him. Their steps are light, floating on an invisible current of joy that snakes first through the corridor, then the lounge, bursting out past the front door and all the way to the theatre. Along the way, they sweep up Tenma and Yuki, who are arguing over something trivial as usual in front of the television; Kazu joins of his own volition when they bump into him on the way out.

“I’ll get Mukkun!” he declares, holding up his phone as he runs. Misumi swivels around to watch him type out a LIME message, marvelling at how quickly he taps his phone.

“Kazu, amazing~!”

Yuki yelps when he nearly crashes into a streetlamp. “Look in front of you, Triangle Alien!”

“Haha, sorry~!”

They can’t find Kumon’s homework under the seats or in the dressing room. Misumi scales the curtains to look around the wings, but he can’t spot anything of note. He makes a show of putting his hand up to his eyebrows as if he’s a sailor scouting the seas; it makes Muku clap his hands with joy at the reminder of that unforgettable play they’d made together. “Triangles ahoy!” shouts Captain Sky, pointing at the shape of Kazu’s arms as he angles his phone up to record the scene.

“Eh, here?” Kazu draws his arms back instinctively, realising a beat too late that he’s still recording. “Sumi~!”

Yuki’s bored voice floats over from behind them. “Don’t blame me if the curtains rip and that Money-Grubbing Yakuza lectures you for a whole day. _I_ certainly won’t be helping you patch it up.”

Misumi knows the curtains are stronger than Yuki thinks, but he jumps down anyway. It’s been fun looking around the theatre, but they still haven’t found Kumon’s homework. Misumi remembers well how it feels to follow a treasure map but find only empty space at the end of the journey. He doesn’t want Kumon’s teachers to scold him for losing his homework, especially when Misumi has seen firsthand how hard Kumon works on it. Unlike Misumi, Kumon is a good student; his teachers love him, and he always does his best to live up to their expectations. This is one of the many treasures that Kumon has in his life.

Kazu swings an arm over Misumi’s shoulders, bumping his hip playfully. “Don’t worry about Yukki, Sumi~! Let’s go back to the dorms and do another sweep of the lounge!” His voice is gentle under the exuberance. Misumi knows that out of all the Summer Troupe members, Kazu might be the one who watches over everyone the most. He’s good at picking out when they’re starting to feel down, at changing the atmosphere before it turns sour.

Misumi leans into the hold for a moment before breaking away to look at the cousins. Muku has hooked his own arm around Kumon’s and looks to have been encouraging him in turn.

“It’s a race back to the dorms!” he says, grabbing Kazu’s wrist. “First team back gets a double serve of onigiri~!”

He sweeps Kazu up and into his arms before bounding off-stage and racing away. Kazu yelps in surprise, but doesn’t push him away; he locks his arms firmly around Misumi’s neck, tucking his head against Misumi’s shoulder. Misumi’s heart pounds two beats faster. He doesn’t have the time to consider whether it’s from the exercise or something else. All he knows is that he’s flying and he can’t stop; won’t stop – they’re going to ride this wave of adrenaline wherever it takes them, because he can sense there’ll be a wonderful treasure waiting for them at the end of it.

Then Yuki clears his throat pointedly, a common prelude to words which usually end up being Very Important.

“…Hey, what happened to the Useless Actor?”

-

They find Tenma wandering around the entrance to the theatre, ostensibly checking the walls for cracks. It doesn’t take long for Yuki’s scathing comments on that excuse to have him sputtering and storming off – this time in the opposite direction of the dorms. Fortunately, Muku still has enough energy to run after him and tug him back to safety. A swell of affection rises in Misumi’s chest when Tenma tugs his cap low in a poor attempt to cover his blazing cheeks. He glances at Kazu, still warm and comfortable in his arms, and Kazu returns the look with the same fondness. He doesn’t, as Misumi half-expects, ask to be put down. Rather, he seems perfectly content to stay put all the way back to the dorms, where another fruitless sweep of the building ends with Tsumugi gently suggesting they contact the school tomorrow.

Tsukushi High sends Kumon a fresh stack of worksheets along with a stern warning not to lose them again. Kazu gifts Kumon a set of clear files and a stack of colourful sticky notes to help him keep track of all the paper. Misumi thinks that this is a genius idea, and allows his mind to wander briefly to the thought of having someone like Kazu to help him when he had been at school. Perhaps he wouldn’t have disappointed his teachers and parents the way he had. Perhaps he would have been able to act as Madoka’s tutor instead of a distraction.

He starts coming back to the dorms to find Kumon hunched over the dining table next to Taichi and Tsumugi rather than in their room, particularly after they ease into the new semester. The first whispers of baseball appear on the afternoon news. By mid-June, Omi’s repertoire has taken on a distinctly icy feel, and the freezer fills with homemade sorbet. Kazu buys a mould shaped like a watermelon slice and Misumi spends one morning filling it with strawberry juice.

“Misumi-san, no fair!”

It seems that Kumon has been meaning to try freezing a healthy juice mix at a friend’s recommendation. He settles easily with a promise from Omi to try it in the next batch they make, so the conversation wanders to topics like Tenma’s new drama and the upcoming Autumn Troupe play. “I hear the money-grubbing yakuza’s been getting nervous,” Yuki says with relish. “I think Villager C’s script might have hit a nerve.”

Kumon nods. “Speaking of, it’s almost time for the Tanabata festival too, isn’t it? Azami was complaining about having to carry boxes of ramune everywhere.”

“Kazu’s making the posters for it!” Misumi says, waving his popsicle in the air. He’d been the first one to see the finished design. “They look suuuuuper good! There are triangles everywhere!”

“As if _that’s_ the standard for good design,” scoffs Yuki. His eyes are warm, though, and Misumi knows that Yuki must understand most of all how beautiful Kazu’s designs are. If Misumi were smarter, he’d be able to appreciate all the fine artistic details in them too; as it is, all he can do is view them with unskilled eyes. Kazu had told him having feedback from that perspective was helpful as well.

Misumi wants so badly to be helpful to Kazu. He’s always receiving, always supported by Kazu’s buoyant heart and hopeful goals. Sometimes he visits Kazu’s room and watches him paint. Each brush stroke is backed by the weight of Kazu’s passion and experience; this is what makes his pictures so captivating. They are so infused with his personality it is impossible to ignore.

“Not everything is about technique!” Kazu tells him once. He puts his hand over Misumi’s to stabilise it. “That’s important, of course; remember what I was telling you about keeping your elbow loose? But your art is yours, so you should draw the way you want! What’s that line again, the one about the prince, the one Muku likes a lot – ”

_What is essential is invisible to the eye_.

The summer grows warm, and Kazu’s hand is like a brand over his. There’s a tight squeeze in his chest, almost like the loneliness he’d felt when Kazu had been thinking of going abroad, except there’s no reason for him to feel that now, when Kazu is right next to him.

Perhaps the proximity has made him greedy. “What do you think?” he asks Kumon the cat, who is almost as cheerful as her human counterpart. She meows at him reproachfully, and he feeds her another piece of fish. “I think you’ve become greedy as well,” he says. “I bet other people have been feeding you too. That’s right~. I can tell, even if you won’t say.”

The culprit is either Hisoka or human Kumon; likely the latter, from how he’d been asking after her recently. Misumi makes a note to tell him off next time he sees him. Cat Kumon’s cute triangle face is becoming rounder and more like a circle, and Misumi doesn’t like losing triangles in his collection. He leans his head against her sleek fur and strokes her one last time, passing his hand over the whole length of her back. She arches out, purring in contentment under his touch. Her golden eyes follow him as he stands and brushes the hairs off his shirt, but she, at least, appears satisfied now. Misumi, on the other hand, feels his discontent like a hollow inside his stomach. He had been hoping to find a new super-class triangle today, though his luck hasn’t been too good recently. His victim-companions of the day are Banri and Juza, who had been unfortunate enough to stand around arguing in the doorway while Misumi was trying to leave. He hopes they’re not too busy glaring at each other to notice the triangles around them.

It takes him only a few minutes to find them because they’re arguing loudly over eggplants in front of the grocery store. “All those sweets must have ruined your eyes,” Banri is saying, jabbing his finger at the produce. “How in the world can you think _this_ is a triangle?”

Juza clenches his teeth, and also his fists. “Haah? It has three corners. Don’t you know what a triangle is?”

The crowd around them is starting to whisper nervously, so Misumi hits them both with a triangle attack and they manage to play the fight off as a Street ACT. People will forgive just about anything that happens on Veludo Way if you tell them it’s performative. “Neither of you is very triangular today,” Misumi chides. Juza’s gaze drops to the floor; Banri’s flicks irritably to the offending eggplant before settling again on Juza. This awkward disconnect is a familiar look for the two of them, an open-ended triangle hanging suspended in the air. One day the loop will close and Misumi will have another triangle to add to his collection.

Banri sighs and scuffs his sneakers against the ground. “C’mon, let’s try the park instead.” He makes a spectacle of flicking through all the low-hanging leaves looking for nice triangles, but Misumi is feeling strict today. None of them are quite triangular enough to satisfy him. Juza tries pointing out a couple of clouds, but these, too, are far too wispy, their edges marred by white haze. It takes about half an hour before Banri gives up on the search. “Tough marking scheme today,” he remarks carefully.

The branch Misumi is perched upon sways in the wind. Misumi lets his legs hang loose so he can feel the breeze. “The study of triangles is a very complicated area,” he says. “Sometimes even a good triangle isn’t the right one.”

A glimmer of light sparks in Banri’s eyes. “In that case, we’ve swept the park already, so I don’t think we’re going to find better triangles here.” Something has shifted in his tone; it is softer now, like he’s coaxing a small animal. “Why don’t we go back to the dorms and see what we can find there?”

It’s a reasonable suggestion, but Misumi still kicks his feet, restless. “I’ve looked there already.”

The spark brightens, warming into a gentle shine. Banri types something into his phone; after a minute, it chimes back with three alerts – _ding, ding, ding_. The next time Banri looks up, it’s with a triumphant grin. He knows Misumi wouldn’t have missed that. “Times change,” he says, and jerks his chin at Juza. “You too. Omi says he’s making scones.”

Juza is on his feet immediately. He fixes the two of them with an unreadable look, and Misumi counts three beats before he speaks. “Misumi-san.” He hesitates here, and once again Misumi counts to three before he speaks again. “Are you lonely?”

_Lonely_. Misumi knows that feeling. He thinks that Juza does, too. There have been times in the past where Misumi has abruptly cancelled a sneak attack on him after seeing a slight change in his demeanour, an unconscious raising of his guard. Lonely people put up barriers to protect themselves, even though you can’t make a triangle without joining three points.

He shakes his head. “I’m not lonely.” The feeling is similar enough that he’d been confused before as well, but it’s not the same. He has the Summer Troupe now, and the Director, and Juza and Banri too; a whole group of people who are happy to call themselves his friend. He tilts his head, thinking. “Maybe just hungry?”

This is a sentiment that Juza appears to sympathise with. He nods curtly and falls into step with Banri, who immediately flinches away, mumbling something about not sticking so close. That’s all it takes to have them at each other’s throats again, but they’re not in danger of being reported to the police this time, so Misumi lets this one slide. They arrive back just in time to catch the first batch of scones coming out of the oven, and Misumi snatches one up over Citron’s dismayed protests. “That was _my_ spoon!”

Misumi hands him an actual spoon. “You can have this one instead~.” When Juza huffs a laugh into his plate of scones, Citron winks, then clutches at Omi’s apron and pretends to bawl his eyes out.

“There are enough scones for everyone,” Omi says soothingly. Judging from the huge bowls in the kitchen, he had indeed made enough batter to have Sakyo running to check their grocery expenses. Citron wails for a few more minutes before he switches tack to disrupt yet another impending clash between Banri and Juza; despite the chaos of it all, there is a comforting feel to it. The emptiness in Misumi’s gut shrinks slowly with every bite he takes of his scone.

-

Kazu arrives back at the dorms shortly before dinner. He has Tsuzuru and Masumi in tow, his head whipping from side to side as he singlehandedly cobbles together a conversation from their irritable replies. He only releases them to snap a quick photo of the scones. “You too, Omimi!” He beckons Omi over and directs him to make a series of increasingly embarrassing poses. “Gotta give the chef some credit!”

After Omi escapes back to the kitchen, red-faced, Kazu slots into place next to Misumi and begins flicking through the pictures on his phone.

“I found a really great triangle today,” he promises. “You’re going to love it, Sumi – look, isn’t it cool how the shadows fall here?” He pauses with his thumb over a picture of the pavement. The criss-crossing shadows of buildings and lamp posts have left only a small window of light over the tiles, serendipitously in the shape of a perfect triangle.

It is, as all of Kazu’s photos are, exquisitely framed. Even an amateur like Misumi can see the artistry behind it. Kazu must have had good fortune as well, because Misumi wandered through half the roads around Veludo Way without finding anything similar today. Fortune, skill, and the consideration to notice; in this one photograph there are three wonderful aspects of Kazu on display for Misumi to see.

“It’s a super triangle!” he exclaims. “Thank you, Kazu~! You’re the triangle of the day!”

Kazu cheers, holding his hand up for a triple high five. “Ah! That reminds me. Sumi, I think it’s almost time.”

Head tilted, Misumi asks, “Time for what?”

Kazu grins at him in response; surprisingly, so does the rest of the room. “You’ll see! Close your eyes.” Misumi complies at once. Kazu’s surprises are always the good sort. He feels cool silk wrap around his eyes. Kazu ties the blindfold deftly behind his head, and then his hands are on Misumi’s shoulders, guiding him down the corridor and out into the garden. With his eyesight gone, Misumi is acutely aware of the gentle pressure at his back, the subtle shifts which tell him the direction he should take. When he strains, he can make out voices, too – Tenma and Yuki whispering harshly to one another; Muku’s voice rising in a crescendo before cutting out, muffled as if by a hand. Now that he thinks about it, he supposes that this week is –

“Happy Birthday, Sumi~!”

The blindfold slips from Misumi’s eyes, and the darkness is replaced by the Summer Troupe crowding around him with streamers and well-wishes. “The Useless Actor here got scared by a falling leaf and almost ruined the surprise,” Yuki drawls, prompting an outraged cry from Tenma. It’s very cute, but Tenma only sulks more when Misumi tells him this.

There is a whole picnic rug laden with food on the grass. “That’s why I was making scones,” Omi explains sheepishly. “Citron was helping me out, but we didn’t manage to finish in time.”

“It’s a bit early, but everyone’s so busy on weekdays,” Kazu complains. “Everyone cleared their schedules for today, though!”

Kumon takes Misumi’s arm. “We should tell ghost stories!”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tenma argues. He places a shaking hand on Misumi’s shoulder. “There’s no need to tell ghost stories at a birthday party. Misumi would much rather light fireworks. Right? _Right?_”

Misumi pretends to think about it. “Let’s do both!”

“Birthday boy’s word is law,” Yuki gloats. “Surely you wouldn’t dare deny him what he wants, hm?”

It becomes a competition to see who can elicit the most bloodcurdling scream from Japan’s most darling child actor. Tsumugi scores a lot of points for his eerie retelling of the time Tasuku got lost one night at training camp during their university days, while Kazu’s story turns into an impromptu manzai act when Tsuzuru and Tenma start taking turns to poke at the more glaring plot holes.

Misumi tucks his feet under his knees before he starts his story. “Once upon a time there was a triangle,” he declares, and ripples of laughter pass through his audience. It’s a nice feeling. Tenma gasps when the triangle looks in the mirror to see only a line and shrieks when Misumi springs onto his feet near the climax.

He gets engrossed in telling the story, too wrapped up in his characters to notice himself deviating from his plan until it happens. He almost doesn’t hear himself speak because in his mind he has become the triangle without a point, the unfinished drawing left forever helpless and abandoned, the protagonist searching for a conclusion. What he does notice is the moment where Tenma’s expression twists and Muku’s face falls. Yuki looks like he’s bitten into a lemon.

Kazu’s eyes are narrowed and dark. There’s a crease between his brows that Misumi instinctively wants to call ugly, even though Kazu is never anything short of stunning.

“Ah, but he stretched and stretched, all the way around the world, and when his arms met up again, he realised he’d become a circle!”

The joke falls flat. The silence which follows is more stifling than the summer humidity.

“Let’s play with the fireworks!” Misumi tries again. The false cheer in his voice rings hollow even to his own ears, but if he doesn’t find a distraction now he’s not sure that he’ll be able to explain himself. “All of you look like you’ve seen a ghost!”

“We _have_ just been telling ghost stories,” Tsuzuru says reluctantly. The older troupe members murmur agreement, sending Misumi soft looks before moving away to distribute fireworks to everyone. They leave him space to calm himself, which Misumi is grateful for, but even this soon becomes uncomfortable. His mistake gnaws at him; he shouldn’t have brought the mood down after everyone had worked so hard to organise this for him.

It’s Kazu who interrupts his self-rebuke, just as it had been Kazu who had broken into his world the day he first became part of the company. Their shoulders bump together. “You okay, Sumi?”

“Mm. I should be.”

Kazu nudges him again. “You don’t have to be. You can say if you’re not.” He hesitates. “If this wasn’t a good time…”

“No!” Misumi reaches out and clamps a hand over Kazu’s mouth. He isn’t about to sit here and allow Kazu to blame himself for the roiling emotions he’s been feeling for the past few weeks. “I like this. Thank you.”

Kazu sighs into Misumi’s hand. “But?”

His eyes are so focused. It is as if the world has narrowed down to him and whatever he has his attention on. Misumi is reminded of what Kazu looks like when he paints, pouring all of himself into the canvas. He moves his hand across to Kazu’s jaw, brushing his thumb over Kazu’s lips. The whole time, Kazu remains still and quiet, allowing Misumi to search his face. He seems to understand that Misumi is looking for something.

Kazu’s face is intimately familiar to Misumi. He has seen a multitude of expressions pass over it – the privilege of being named a friend. He notes now the softness of Kazu’s skin and the fine threads of his hair, the dark roots peeking out under bleached blonde. He knows that Kazu comes from a good home. Misumi has spoken his father.

Above all, Misumi knows what it looks like when a person is doted on. Kazu is loved – now, and he will be in the future, too. He is the sort of person who tries his hardest for himself and the people around him; he has a shine that attracts others to him. He wants to be an Ultra-Multi-Creator, but his arms are already overflowing with his creations: the designs for the theatre; his exhibition pieces; the parties he organises for the troupe members; the bonds he forges with walled-off hearts.

There it is again: that dull, squeezing ache.

Everything he knows, and it’s still not enough.

“It’ll be Tanabata soon,” he tells Kazu, letting his hand drop. Kazu blinks in confusion for a second before his face clears.

“Is there something you want to wish for?”

“Maybe.” Misumi shrugs, noncommittal. He glances towards the anxious faces of the Summer Troupe, who have been clutching unlit fireworks while waiting for the two of them. “I’m not sure yet.”

“There might be shooting stars tonight,” Kazu says. “Let’s stargaze on the rooftop later then.”

They light fireworks together. They make Tenma dance to the beat of sizzling powder bursts, and the sky comes alight with explosions of vivid colour. The bright streaks spread out like dahlia petals, a thousand bright sparks fading away over the span of several seconds. They are loud and splendid, and Misumi will treasure this memory in spite of his heart’s attempt to sabotage it.

When the noise dies down and the decorations have all been packed away, he and Kazu steal two cans of shochu and a plate of onigiri and clamber onto the rooftop. The bitter hint of lemon mingles with the carbon bubbles popping on his tongue. Kazu stretches his hand out to the sky and captures the Summer Triangle in his fist.

“Orihime, my love, I won’t let anything come between us! If the rain dares show its face, I’ll beat it back!”

Kazu’s Hikoboshi tonight is a fierce warrior, a man who would throw himself before danger to protect his beloved. Misumi transforms into a wilful weaver, her heart strong and her grief a raging current. “I have finished my weaving,” she proclaims, “and my slave-driver of a father has no hold over me; I will see you, and we will not be parted this year.”

“One day a year isn’t very long at all,” Kazu sighs, breaking character to lean against Misumi. “I wouldn’t be able to bear it.”

Misumi looks up at the sky, singling the stars out in turn: Vega; Deneb; Altair. Of these three, Vega stands out, bright amidst the other twinkling stars, and Misumi wonders whether she is lonely. “How many days do you think would be enough for them, Kazu?”

“I don’t think it’d ever be enough,” Kazu says. “I mean, after I fell in love with art, I’ve never sat down and thought, _that’s enough; I’ll stop now_. There have been times where I’ve been frustrated, of course, but it’s never been a question of having had enough.” He trails off, cheeks pinking. “I guess that’s what love is to me.”

Misumi takes another gulp of shochu and tastes the emptiness in his mouth after he swallows. _Oh,_ he thinks, as that hollowness sinks all the way down to his toes. _So that’s what it was_.

-

Not much changes after that night, though the seasons continue their slow march onward. Kumon swaps stories about banging blackboard erasers together for Koshien updates and storm forecasts. Misumi presses triangle stickers against the wall of their room with him to help him recover from the shock turnaround in the ninth inning and daydreams about serious green eyes that sparkle like emerald. The grocery store begins to hold discount fairs for mushrooms and chestnuts, which Sakyo and the Director spend more time than necessary attending.

Kazu begins to talk about graduation. He uses a lot of unfamiliar terminology and mentions many names that make Banri nod but are wholly unfamiliar to Misumi. He supposes this is one of the things he missed out on by not attending university. Then again, Kazu has always held vast knowledge of subjects that Misumi knows very little about. He loves listening to Kazu’s animated explanations and represses a full body shudder when he hears about the amount of documentation involved in the process.

“I think I’m going to drown in paper,” Kazu complains, throwing his arms around Misumi’s neck. Misumi loops an arm around his waist to steady him. “Save me, Captain!”

Sky jumps into the water without a second thought. “Hang tight, Paul!” Unfortunately for Paul, it turns out that Sky can’t swim in these depths either, and by the time they make it to dry land, collapsing on the sofa in the lounge, they’re both exhausted, clinging to each other with the last of their strength. Kazu’s chest heaves with each breath, a brilliant smile blooming over his face.

“Thanks,” he says. “I think I needed that.”

Misumi smiles back. “Anytime~.” It’s nice to know that even if he can’t help with the paperwork and the projects, he can still support Kazu. He loves that Kazu lets him.

Love, love, love. Now that he has a name for this feeling, he notices it all the time. He’d linked it to other things before, like the warmth of his grandfather’s voice or the small lift of Sakyo’s lips when he gazes at the theatre late at night. He’s seen it in Tsuzuru’s scripts, written out in countless different scenarios, but he’d never known he could use that label to describe all the emotions that Kazu makes him feel.

It’s nice to have a name for them, even the less pleasant ones. It makes them easier to bear.

Towards the end of October, Citron and Taichi organise a group outing to try and hunt for the first signs of burnished bronze amidst the trees. “Isn’t it too early to go?” Yuki asks.

“It’s a little bit early, but we might get lucky depending on where we go.” Tsumugi points to a spot on the map. “Tasuku and I went here once, just to see the flowers. We weren’t expecting anything, but there were a couple of trees which were already starting to change colour.”

Azuma hums thoughtfully. “It’s difficult trying to get the timing right, isn’t it.”

“They’re not around for long,” Muku agrees, looking wistful. “There’s a line in volume nine of _Dawn of the Red Autumn Moon_ where the heroine says that life is like an autumn leaf. It’s so poetic; I’d really recommend it!”

They’d read some of that manga with Kazu during their book club sessions. They’d acted out some of the scenes together, Kazu’s legs splayed out on the floor with the book spread open in front of him. Kazu’s voice had been rich and expressive, his movements sharp and broad. Misumi loves how Kazu acts, too – sometimes cool, sometimes carefree; always with a charm that makes you never want to look away.

The conversation veers from planning to a more abstract discussion on _momijigari_ in general. Omi plans out at least five seasonal dishes in the time it takes Juza to deliver a short spiel on its history. Kumon and Taichi pepper him with questions after, and Tsumugi chimes in to help him answer some of them.

Misumi looks at his hands. Kazu is still at university, apparently; he’d wanted to discuss something with one of his supervisors. They’d seen each other that morning, but Misumi misses him already.

“Looking for triangles?” asks Azuma. He procures a piece of origami paper from somewhere inside his jacket and folds it in half diagonally.

People sometimes tell Misumi that he acts like he sees things most people can’t. Azuma acts the same way; there is a little half-smile on his lips that Misumi knows is sympathetic. The two of them have a kind of mutual understanding when it comes to certain topics. He shakes his head but accepts the triangle. “I miss Kazu.”

“He has been busy lately,” Azuma says. “We haven’t held a mah-jong tournament in some weeks either.” He tilts his head in the direction of the other group. They’ve wandered back to planning now, with Tasuku and Omi listing slope gradients so they can discuss which walking paths to take. “My bed is always open to you if you’re lonely.”

“I’m not lonely,” Misumi says immediately, “but thanks, Azuma. I’ll give you a triangle.” He digs around in his pockets for a moment, then remembers he doesn’t have any on him at the moment. “Wait a minute.”

He dashes back to his room and grabs one of his paper airplanes off the floor. He has flown this one around the dorms a couple of times now and it’s one of his best fliers.

“Here you go!”

Azuma thanks him and tosses it gently to the planning group. It drifts down, distracting Citron in the middle of a sentence. “Misumi gave me a triangle,” Azuma says proudly.

Citron pouts. “Where’s my triangle?”

“I can make you a dinosaur!” Taichi offers, slamming his hands on the table in excitement.

Tsumugi tucks the map away. “I suppose we’ve done enough planning for tonight,” He says ruefully. “Tasuku, don’t you have an early day tomorrow?”

“I’ll be fine,” Tasuku says. “I was going to get up for a run anyway.”

Kumon squints at the paper airplane. “Hold on,” he says suddenly, “This is my homework from the start of the year!” He turns accusingly. “Misumi-san!”

“Ehh?!” Misumi claps his hands together. “I’m sorry, Kumon!”

Having had several months to forget about the incident, Kumon forgives him graciously. “You have to come play catch with me next time,” he says. “You’re super fast!”

“I want to play catch too,” says Citron, jumping at them and almost toppling Kumon over in the process.

“Me too! The baseball team at uni is really popular!”

The room grows loud again with their chatter. Tasuku makes an off-hand comment about preferring soccer and seems to light a fire in Kumon, who spends the next half hour enthusing about his favourite baseball players. When they finally disperse to bed, Misumi’s heart aches a little less.

He thinks he might owe Azuma another triangle.

-

The day of the expedition, Misumi looks up and sees a procession of cumulus clouds puffing slowly across the wide blue sky. They look a bit like tawara onigiri, which puts a slight damper on his mood, but Omi packs real onigiri into the picnic basket along with momiji manjuu and chestnuts. “Maybe we’ll find mushrooms,” Taichi tells Muku as they’re putting their sneakers on. “I still remember what the most common poisonous ones look like!”

Misumi isn’t bringing much, but Kazu’s backpack is stuffed with tech; he’s packed away his selfie stick, two cameras, even a few sketchbooks and paints.

“We might not even see anything,” Yuki points out.

Kazu winks and makes a peace sign. “Don’t be like that, Yukki~! I’ve got a good feeling about today!”

“As do I,” Azuma says. His eyes are twinkling with mischief, and as he passes Kazu he leans over and whispers something that makes Kazu stammer and blush. His eyes dart to Misumi, then Tsumugi, who startles and gives him a nervous thumbs up.

Misumi frowns. “What’s up, Kazu?”

Kazu springs upright as if he’s been struck. “N-n-nothing! Azu’s voice is just super sexy, don’t you think?”

“None of that now,” Azuma says sternly. “I was just warning him to be careful,” he tells Misumi. “They’re new shoes. He might need somebody to stay close and make sure he doesn’t slip.”

His lips are curved upwards, teasing, but Misumi takes his words to heart anyway. He sticks so closely to Kazu that he can hear Kazu’s pulse start to race as they climb. At the second lookout point, Kazu’s shoelaces come untied and he motions the group on. “We’ll catch up,” he calls, when Misumi insists on staying, and Azuma lets out a soft laugh.

“Take your time,” he says, winking at the two of them, and the group traipses away. The storm of footsteps fades into the distance, leaving behind the soft whisper of wind rustling through the trees, dappled sunlight spotting the dirt.

When the path is quiet again, Kazu lets out a huge sigh. “Sorry, Sumi.”

“For what?”

“I did that on purpose,” Kazu confesses. He shifts on his feet, then blurts out, “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” Misumi says immediately. Kazu is almost vibrating with nerves, and Misumi isn’t sure how to fix that. He leans in, staring up into Kazu’s face as if that will help him understand what’s going on. “Kazu, what is it?”

Kazu buries his face in his hands. “Sorry, I’m really bad at this.” He takes a deep breath and peeks through his fingers at Misumi. “I know I haven’t been around as much because uni’s been getting busy, even though that’s not an excuse – Azu told me you’d been looking down, and I knew that; on your birthday, too, there was definitely something wrong, and I ended up leaving it…” He spreads out his hands helplessly. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Misumi’s heart drops. “It’s not your fault.”

“But it is to do with me, isn’t it?” Kazu grips his wrists, looking intently into Misumi’s eyes, and it’s almost unbearable; he’s so beautiful it hurts to look at him. It’s not Kazu’s fault at all.

“I don’t want to bother you,” Misumi says, wrenching out of Kazu’s grasp. “You’re so good, Kazu. You could go anywhere you want in the future. You should be able to do that, without having to think about me.”

As the words leave his mouth, he freezes. He’d been so immersed in loving Kazu that he hadn’t dared think about this other, selfish side to his feelings. He sounds so demanding, like a child pretending to act aloof for attention; that had never been his intention.

Kazu’s hands ball into fists. His voice is shaking when he speaks. “You can’t force me not to think about you if I want to,” he says. “Aren’t we friends?”

They are. Kazu teaches him how to make beautiful things. He finds triangles for him as a routine. He reads to Misumi, acts with him on the spur of the moment, reshapes Tenma’s onigiri in secret to make them more triangular. Kazu had called him a friend before anyone else.

Misumi loves him. He wants to hold him tight, keep him safe – to treasure him. He wants Kazu to be smiling all the time, and to have the freedom to do whatever he chooses. “I’m sorry,” he says. Kazu is a precious friend. “You do so much for me. I shouldn’t be lonely or sad. It’s just that I’ve become greedy, because I love you.”

Kazu’s breath hitches. He opens his hands up to the trees, as if to catch the sunlight. “Me too,” he says. His eyes are ablaze with crimson and gold. “I want a future with everything – you included. Do you think I’m greedy, Sumi?”

Misumi reaches out as well – to Kazu instead of the trees. He cups Kazu’s cheek in his palm, the sight making him giddier than any of the scenery they’ve encountered today. “Kazu is kind,” he declares – gently; firmly. He will not allow this to be contested. Kazu loops his arms around Misumi’s neck and beams, radiant.

“Then let me tell you what you are to me,” he says. As if Misumi could deny him anything he wanted.

-

The world isn’t limited to the inside of a single triangle. It is built on an infinite number of triangles – big, small, tall, thin. There are so many still lying buried in the ground, waiting to be unearthed; Misumi has never been satisfied with the size of his current collection.

If happiness comes in threes, then surely Misumi is qualified to find it.


End file.
